Never Sleep With Strangers (26 page)

As if reading her mind, Tom said, “My wife and I are separated, amicably. And when the divorce is final, V.J. and I are going to be married, and we're going to spend the rest of our lives, however long that may be, together.”

Sabrina found herself smiling, stepping away from Jon to place a kiss on Tom's cheek. “Good for you.” She gave V.J. a big hug.

V.J. was blushing slightly. “I guess I dozed off again this morning because I'm not as young as I used to be. And last night Tom and I were up for hours and hours, talking and…well, you know, talking and—”

“Oh, my God, the old folks were shagging away!” someone announced from the other end of the hall. Brett, hands behind his back, was walking toward them.

“Brett…” Tom began angrily.

“No, no, dear, I'll take this one,” V.J. said gaily. “Brett McGraff, don't you dare call us old folks.
Reggie
is old. We're merely on the downside of middle age,” she huffed. “And just what are you doing here, anyway?” she asked.

“We had this perfectly good snowball fight going, and all of a sudden I see Jon here realize that he's been away from Sabrina for more than ten minutes. I figured she was snug and warm in the castle, so…”

“So?” Jon demanded, hands on his hips, a brow raised, a slight curl to his lips as he took a step toward Brett.

Brett grinned like a cat. He drew one hand from behind his back and threw a snowball at Sabrina.

Perfect aim.

It caught her on the chin, and snowflakes danced around her.

“Jon!” V.J. said. “Are you going to let him do that to her?”

“Certainly not,” Jon said.

“Oh, I can take care of myself on this one,” Sabrina announced, already heading toward Brett.

Brett turned to run. As he did so, he said, “We missed you, too, V.J.!” And he caught V.J. with the snowball he had carried in his other hand.

They all tore after him.

Brett was fleet, and he made it out of the house. But once there, he was in trouble. The others, who had still been pummeling one another, saw the attack on Brett and joined in. Within seconds he was unable to return fire. He was laughing, down on his back. V.J., her dress sodden, knelt on one side with Sabrina on the other, all but burying him in snow.

Laughing, Sabrina realized that Jon was standing back a little, amused by the whole thing.

“Jon!” Brett whispered to the two women. “I'm mush already. Get Jon!”

And so they did. It was fun to see his expression change as they turned their focus on him.

He sprinted a good distance away and kept up a steady barrage of return fire for an admirable amount of time. Old Angus was the one who finally helped them get him. “Back him against the stables yonder, bur-ry the boy!” he suggested.

So Jon, too, wound up flat in the snow, Sabrina straddling him. He was laughing so hard he couldn't ward off her snow assault—but then he suddenly shifted, rolling, and Sabrina was the one on her back in the snow, pelted by handfuls of the soft, light, fluffy stuff.

“Cry uncle!” he warned her.

“Never!”

More snow. “Cry uncle!”

“Not on your life!”

She was nearly buried alive. “Come on now, give in, cry uncle!”

“Never, never, never—uncle, uncle, uncle! You will get yours!” she told him.

He smiled and answered softly, “I'm counting on it.”

He stood, drawing her to her feet. The entire crowd was completely soaked, except for Reggie, who had apparently been issuing battle instructions from the castle steps. Laughing, they stamped their feet and shook themselves off.

“That was great fun. Maybe we should all be snowbound more often!” Dianne said.

Smiling, friendly, natural, she looked her age—just barely an adult, young and fresh and enthusiastic. Sabrina found herself thinking that Dianne might be capable of a few macabre pranks, but never murder.

But then, everyone in the group was laughing, having fun, with a strange innocence.

Yet even as she considered how innocent they all seemed, she noticed that there was blood in the snow by her feet.

“Someone is bleeding,” she said.

“Tom, your hand—maybe you've split it again,” V.J. said.

“Don't think so,” Tom said, stretching out his palms. “Nope. My hands are freezing, but no blood. It's probably congealed!”

“We should all get warmed up—only half of us were wearing gloves,” Jon said. “Someone has cut himself—or herself—good. Is everyone all right?”

“Your cheek is bleeding,” Dianne mentioned to him.

“Old shaving wound,” he said.

“Brett, how's that finger you cut?” Sabrina asked.

“I don't think I'm leaking blood,” he said. “But then, I've actually got several wounds, you know.”

“Yeah, right!” V.J. exclaimed. “Poor, poor boy!”

“Maybe it was me,” Thayer said, rubbing his chin.

“You cut yourself shaving, too?” Ann Lee asked.

“Yep. It was like a gusher—caught myself right under the chin,” he announced.

“Maybe we should all attend a barber's convention next time,” Joe said sorrowfully. “I did a number on myself yesterday as well. It was the shaving by candlelight, I think.”

“That looks like more blood than a shaving knick,” Sabrina murmured.

“Whoever is injured will surely find his or her wound,” Thayer said.

“We need to get in and warmed up before someone suffers real frostbite,” Jon said.

“Have we got enough wood to keep the fire in the library burning?” Thayer asked him.

“Yep,” Jon said. “There's a storage room in the dungeon. Want to lend me a hand?”

“Sure.”

“I'm for a hot shower,” V.J. told them. “You men just go ahead and be men and make the place nice and warm and cozy, and we ladies will be down shortly.”

They all moved into the castle, Jon and Thayer and Joe heading straight for the stairs to the dungeon.

Sabrina started to follow Reggie on in, then noticed that Joshua had lingered behind and stooped down to see the blood in the snow.

“What's the matter?” she asked him.

Startled, he looked up at her. “Nothing,” he said, and gave her a slightly baffled look. “I just hope that whoever is hurt realizes it soon. This is a lot of blood.”

“Maybe it just looks like more than it is. Why would anyone want to hide an injury?”

Joshua grinned at her. “I don't know—tough, crime-writing guys. Maybe they don't want to look like sissies. Me, on the other hand…well, my hands are my life, my work. If I have a paper cut, I nurse the damn thing.”

Sabrina laughed, then sobered. “Joshua, when Brett was thrown, you went back and kept looking around where he fell, as if something was wrong.”

“Well, something was wrong. Brett had been thrown, and he'd hurt himself.”

“No, no, I mean…”

He hesitated, his eyes blank for a minute, then he shrugged. “It was nothing, really. I just needed to look. The artist's eyes, you know.” He shrugged again.

But Sabrina thought he was lying. There was something. Something he didn't want to tell her.

“Well,” he said, rising. “You should be doing the lady thing in the shower while I go do the manly man thing with the wood in the basement.” He grinned.

She smiled in return. “I can help with the wood.”

“Nice of you to offer, but you don't think that six strong guys can bring up enough?”

“Well, I was trying not to be sexist.”

Joshua shook his head. “Do it V.J.'s way. Be sexist when it's convenient. Go warm up. Your lips are blue, and your teeth are chattering.”

Sabrina took him up on his advice. She saw V.J.'s door closing as she reached her room, and down the hallway, Dianne's door closed as well. On a hunch, she walked across the room to Susan's door and knocked. “Susan?”

No answer.

“Susan, it's Sabrina. You can't stay angry with all of us forever. Please, come out?”

There was no reply. She twisted the handle. The door was locked.

She exhaled thoughtfully. Evidently Susan was still royally pissed off. And it seemed that there was nothing she could do. She turned and slowly walked to her own room.

Brett came up behind her.

“Save water, shower with a friend?”

“Brett!”

He grinned and disappeared into his own room.

Sabrina went in and headed for the shower. Once again she was grateful the hot water was holding out. It felt wonderful on her hands. She had idiotically, rushed out without gloves. She was probably lucky she didn't have frostbite. She might have been the one bleeding all over the snow. The snow fight, however, had been fun.

Except for all the blood she had seen afterward.

She frowned as the water cascaded over her, wondering why the blood bothered her so much when no one appeared to be seriously injured.

There had just been so much of it.

Still, everyone seemed to have a cut. And every man here seemed to have forgotten how to shave.

Including Jon.

He hadn't just bled a little bit. His robe had been drenched with wet, sticky blood.

From a shaving cut?

And despite herself, she couldn't help but be haunted by the thought that…

He had lied to her last night. And if he had lied to her last night…

Might it all be a lie?

W
ith plenty of wood piled by the hearths in the library, and the great hall, Jon went upstairs to shower. He stopped by Sabrina's room, but she wasn't there. His heart started pounding, and he berated himself, wondering why he should feel fear every time he didn't see her. Of all of them here, Sabrina was the least likely to be in danger. She hadn't been here when Cassie was killed. She hadn't been part of any sex or revenge games. She wasn't a danger to anyone.

Hearing Sabrina's laughter from V.J.'s room, he sighed in relief. Apparently the two women were deep in pleasant conversation. He went on to his own room, wondering why nagging suspicion still plagued him. Dianne had been certain that someone had killed her mother. Jon had never felt more uncertain about anything in his life. Had Cassie been killed? Or had it been a tragic accident?

Strange things had happened here since this week began, yet what, exactly, did they mean? Anyone—not necessarily guilty of murder—might have wanted to torment Susan Sharp. She had tortured all of them at one time or another, and she could be, even as a female, such a pompous prick. There was also the note he had received. But again, maybe someone not guilty of murder had sent him the note just to make sure he paid—either for Cassie's death or for just not loving her enough. The gunshot in the hallway, however, was not so easily explained.

But what did these odd events add up to?

Nothing! he prayed.

In his own room, because he seemed to be growing paranoid, he made sure that the door to the secret passage was secure. It was. Then he showered and attended to other details of running the castle.

It was early evening when he walked back down to the library, and once again it seemed that he was hosting a group of pleasant, normal,
innocent
men and women.

A poker game was in full-tilt. Reggie was winning, taking pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters and the occasional dollar bill from Joe, Tom, V.J. and Thayer. Joshua, Sabrina, Brett, Anna Lee, Camy and Dianne were involved in a game of
Uno.

Only Susan Sharp seemed to be missing. Again.

“Hey, Jon!” V.J. said, smiling as he came into the room. There was a new glow about her now that she and Tom were out in the open about their feelings.

“Jon, join us!” Reggie said.

“She'll fleece you!” Brett warned. “Come play
Uno.
It's more cutthroat but cheaper.”

“Brett, pay attention. Draw four cards,” Anna Lee said.

“Oh! You monster! You did that to me?” Brett cried.

“You don't know the half of it, honey,” Anna Lee returned in a mock Mae West voice.

“Reverse!” Sabrina announced.

Jon caught her eye as she glanced up at him. There was something different about the way she looked at him. He frowned.

Had all this sordidness finally become too much for her? No, it wasn't like Sabrina to judge. And yet…

She was looking at him differently.

Guardedly.

“Aargh!” Brett cried. “Help! These women are out to get me.”

“Uno!”
Camy announced.

“Someone get that woman,” Dianne commanded. “She's about to win!”

“Well, that is the point of the game, isn't it?” Camy asked. She smiled and looked at Jon happily.

“That's the point of the game,” he said lightly. In a way, it was nice that Susan wasn't around, saying things that hurt people and stirring up trouble. Still, at this point, he was beginning to get worried.

“No one has seen Susan yet?” he asked.

“Nope,” Thayer said, studying his cards. “But she left us a note.”

“Left a note? Where?” Jon asked with a frown.

“Out!” Camy cried. She rose from the round oak game table and walked to the mantel. “Jennie found this when she came to set us up with drinks.” She grimaced. “Want me to read it?”

“Go on—do. Jon will enjoy it as much as the rest of us, I'm sure,” Joe said dryly.

Camy read aloud.

Camy looked at Jon apologetically.

“She sure does sound pissed off,” Dianne murmured.

“Bully for her,” V.J. said.

Tom shrugged. “I say what I said before. Fuck her.”

“Really,” Brett said, “who the hell does she think she is? I've never heard anything like it! Threatening us that way. As if she has the power to keep all of us from ever writing again.”

Joe played a card. “Funny, you'd think Susan would know better. She might stick a few knives into us, the way Cassie could, but she'd never in a thousand years convince a publisher not to go to contract with an author who was bringing in the bucks.”

“All right, all right,” Jon said. “We've established the fact that Susan is a bitch. But I'm still worried about her.”

“Jon,” Sabrina said, looking up at him. Blue eyes liquid, hair streaming gold in the firelight, she was wearing a royal blue knit that clung to every curve of her body. He could pick out the subtle scent of her perfume, and he suddenly wanted to forget the hell about Susan Sharp and everyone else as well.

Except that there was that something different about Sabrina now….

“I knocked on Susan's door,” she said. “I tried to talk to her. In fact, I carried on something of a conversation with her locked door. I don't think I've done anything to make her angry with me, but she wouldn't respond at all.”

“Well, she can't stay holed up in her room for days,” Jon said impatiently.

Brett looked up. “Why not?” he asked hopefully.

“Please, let's just leave her?” Dianne asked.

“Maybe she'll eventually starve to death,” V.J. commented happily.

“No, she won't,” Dianne told her. “She wrote another note, ‘To the servants,' ordering that a tray be set in front of her door twice a day until this wretched, snowbound event comes to an end.”

“Jon, it sounds as if she's really fuming and doesn't want to be disturbed,” Joshua told him.

Jon lowered his head, smiling slightly. They were all more than willing to leave well enough alone where Susan was concerned. He looked up again. “Sorry, guys. I'm still worried. We've got to go check up on her.”

“Oh. Let's not,” Reggie said.

“Well, I'll check on her then.”

“Oh, we'll all go,” Thayer said. “I'm out of nickels anyway, thanks to this old card shark.”

“Card shark, yes, but I'm the only one who gets to call me old!” Reggie warned him. “But wait, Jon, let's enjoy our dinner first, and then we'll go and eat some crow with Susan. It will be easier on a full stomach.”

Jon arched a brow. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, Dianne abruptly dropped to her knees, clasping her hands as if in prayer and looking up at him entreatingly. “Please, please, sir, just dinner. Let us have dinner in peace.”

“Come on now, Dianne,” he said, laughing. But then Joe Johnston was down on his knees as well, “Oh, yes, yes, please, sir, just give us some supper…in peace.”

“Really, if you think—”

“Puh-lease!” Anna Lee added dramatically, kneeling, too. Laughing, Camy, Joshua and Brett joined the other supplicants on the floor.

“Dinner,” Jon said firmly, shaking a finger at them, “but no more delays.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, sir!” Brett cried.

“Get up, the lot of you,” Jon said, chuckling. “Dinner—and then we go upstairs and talk to Susan and at the very least make sure that she's all right.”

He turned around and strode into the great hall.

Jennie was seeing to the Sterno fires beneath the chafing dishes. “We are getting quite inventive, sir!” she told Jon cheerfully. “Everything tonight was cooked upon the open flame. Well, except, of course, the salad, and that wasn't cooked a'tall! But we've lovely steaks and chops. No electric, but the snow itself is pr'sarving our food.”

“Thank you, Jennie,” he told her.

His guests remained in high spirits as they filled their plates and sat down by candlelight. A fire burned merrily in the hearth. Sabrina was quietly elegant, smiling, laughing, responding to the comments around her—but not to him. She wasn't exactly ignoring him, but she was somehow avoiding him, even though she was sitting beside him. What the hell had happened? he wondered.

Then he found himself wondering, as well, what would have happened if she hadn't disappeared years ago? Might they have stayed together then, eventually married? Hosted these parties, both enjoying them? Sabrina complemented the castle, and, he thought, she complemented him. She brought out the best in him. And if they had somehow stayed together, wed, would Cassie still be alive, a guest here tonight?

And would Sabrina be looking at him differently, as she had earlier, before…

Before what? He was baffled.

Sabrina suddenly looked at him and smiled, though her gaze still seemed guarded. Her blue eyes were dazzling, caught by the firelight. “What are you thinking?” she asked him, under cover of the chatter and laughter.

“That I wish you'd never run away. Maybe we could have changed fate.”

She flushed slightly, looking down at the table. “Maybe you see more in me than is really there.”

“What do you mean?” Jon protested.

“Well,” she said quietly, “I'd like to think I have some strength, the courage of my convictions. But when Cassie came to you that day—”

“What?”

“I folded like an envelope,” she said ruefully.

“But that was a long time ago. And it's my turn. What are
you
thinking?”

“Nothing, really.” She looked away.

“You're lying.”

She shrugged.

“Tell me.”

“Nothing…really.”

“Something, really.”

She shook her head slightly. “There's just suddenly…so much blood around!”

“Really?”

She looked at him steadily. “Yes.”

He arched a brow.

“There was blood all over your robe.”

“I told you, I cut myself shaving.”

“Then it looked as if you cut your throat shaving.”

Startled, he sat back. “What is it you think I've done?” He lowered his head, closer to hers, lest the others hear their conversation. “My wife wasn't stabbed to death—she went over a balcony. And to the best of my knowledge, we've no other corpses around, other than the long-buried ones in the crypt.”

Sabrina didn't answer. She was looking at Anna Lee, who was studying them with a frown.

Anna Lee smiled when she caught Jon's eye. “You know what's a dreadful shame?” she queried generally.

Before Jon could answer, Brett did. “Yes. We didn't get our host to confess to any deep, dark sins.”

Anna Lee laughed. “That's not what I was referring to, but, yes, well, there's that, too, of course.”

“I had no sins!” Jon said lightly, lifting his wineglass to Anna Lee.

“Bull,” Brett objected. “Cassie told me you were seeing someone.” He flushed when the words were out. “Sorry, I, uh…” He stiffened in his chair and shrugged, then couldn't seem to resist asking, “Who was it?”

Jon sat back. “It wasn't—”

“It wasn't me!” Reggie announced, fluffing her hair.

“Nor me!” V.J. assured them, laughing.

“Not his stepdaughter,” Dianne said dryly.

“Well, I was trying, but it wasn't me,” Anna Lee murmured.

“Susan?”
a number of them said in unison.

“No!” Jon protested. He shook his head, sipping his wine again, glad to see that Sabrina seemed amused rather than horrified. “I wasn't seeing anyone here at all.”

“But someone, somewhere,” V.J. guessed. “Who was she?”

Jon gave in. “None of you know her, and it was only an occasional thing, as we both traveled frequently. Her home base was Edinburgh, but we met in the States. She's an interior decorator, and she'd done some work for me in New York. Are you all happy now, or do you need more specifics?”

“Well, I'd love to hear every last detail!” Anna Lee teased.